


A Loss with No Name

by Salmon_I



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Angst, Canon Compliant, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_I/pseuds/Salmon_I
Summary: After he’d joined the group, they’d tried to keep him away from children related tasks for a decade or two.  It was a considerate gesture, given the loss of his sons, but when it came to war and dark deeds children were too often the victims.  It was impossible to avoid altogether.They’d rescued a group of kidnapped children, and returning them to their parents had involved trekking them back themselves.  The little faces that looked up at them tugged at his heart.  It wasn’t long before he had one little scamp on his hip, teaching them an old lullaby he’d sung to his sons over sixty years in the past by then.  Nothing could soothe the loss, but the feeling of a child in his arms again was like being wrapped in a blanket after spending hours in the cold.“You must have been a wonderful father.”  Nicky had told him after.“Not according to my sons in the end.”  He couldn’t help but respond, regretting it when he saw his expression.  “I know you mean those words well, it’s just… Andromache was right, I shouldn’t have gone back. I know that now.”
Comments: 21
Kudos: 110





	A Loss with No Name

_“A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no word for a parent who loses a child. That’s how awful the loss is.”_

_― Jay Neugeboren, An Orphan's Tale_

  
People leaving babies on doorsteps went out with the 20th century. Seriously, it did. Nobody left babies on doorsteps anymore - it didn’t fucking happen. It was from desperate ages past filled with poverty and famine and medical conditions that were abhorrent. Besides, baby hatches had existed in France for over half a century.

Booker repeated all this information to the small baby looking up at him with big blue eyes, but it apparently refused to cease existing simply because he told it so.

He checked the basket for bugs or explosives, but apparently this wasn’t a trap, just a baby. In a basket. Left on his doorstep.

“This type of thing doesn’t happen anymore.” He told the baby again, as if saying it enough times would make the child disappear. It just blinked back at him and yawned. “Merde.”

He couldn’t keep it, of course. He’d have to drop it off at a baby hatch himself. Not that he had any idea where the nearest one was. And he couldn’t exactly take it there on a motorcycle, so he’d need to rent a car. The baby eyed him as he booted up his laptop. “I can’t keep you. It’s impossible.”

Tears began to well up in the baby’s eyes, seconds before the first wail began. He had it on his hip the next moment, bouncing it gently and singing to it softly. It quieted, looking up at him with interest. And just like that, his plans for the day - namely drinking himself into oblivion - were gone.

After he’d joined the group, they’d tried to keep him away from children related tasks for a decade or two. It was a considerate gesture, given the loss of his sons, but when it came to war and dark deeds children were too often the victims. It was impossible to avoid altogether.

They’d rescued a group of kidnapped children, and returning them to their parents had involved trekking them back themselves. The little faces that looked up at them tugged at his heart. It wasn’t long before he had one little scamp on his hip, teaching them an old lullaby he’d sung to his sons over sixty years in the past by then. Nothing could soothe the loss, but the feeling of a child in his arms again was like being wrapped in a blanket after spending hours in the cold.

“You must have been a wonderful father.” Nicky had told him after.

“Not according to my sons in the end.” He couldn’t help but respond, regretting it when he saw his expression. “I know you mean those words well, it’s just… Andromache was right, I shouldn’t have gone back. I know that now.”

“Going back was never an option for me. My family probably would have accused me of selling my soul if I had. And I suppose I never saw a way to avoid telling them if I did return.”

“I guess I thought that love would be stronger than fear or jealousy or greed. I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to avoid them - the missions with children. It felt… good to see a child’s smile again.”

The look Nicky had given him was equal parts happy and sad. After that, they did many tasks involving children. Each time it hurt a little, but it also felt like the best moments of his cursed life. He’d sing to them and play with them, feeling truly alive for a short time. Saying goodbye to them was always hard, even when they’d only been with them a few hours. Failing cases with children, that was even harder. He’d drink more those nights, but he never refused a case with children. Not once.

He’d used that during his betrayal. It made it seem less strange that he would want to take the case. If it involved children, the team would know he was weak for it. Weak enough to suggest a repeat despite the rules. He hated himself for that now. But then, he hated himself for a lot of things, so what was one more?

He wasn’t clueless to the more modern inventions involving childcare. They’d had to watch over children and babies for periods within the last fifty years. He still thought cloth diapers were better - he and Joe once argued the point during a case.

“It’s disgusting!” Joe had told him. “With these, you throw them away, problem solved.”

“It’s just fluid, it washes out.” He’d told him.

“It is not just fluid.”

“Baby poop isn’t like adult poop. It’s less solid.”

“It’s gross. Throw it out, problem solved.”

“Cloth is softer. Would you want to wear plastic pants?”

Two diaper changes and one bottle later, the baby was dozing in his arms, and he had children songs playing on the small tinny radio that was probably a good seventy-five years old. He was surprised it still worked. He typed his searches one-handed into his laptop. It was Friday, and renting a car was always more expensive on the weekends - plus the smaller sizes always seemed to sell out. It was already afternoon as well which meant he had limited time. And, really, he couldn’t leave the child to pick up the car, and it would draw attention if he had no car seat… but what the hell would he do with a car seat after?

“I’m not keeping you through the weekend.” He told the baby girl in his arms. “I truly can’t.”

He kept her the weekend.

“You may have blue eyes, but you’re too fussy to be named after Nicky.” He told her on Monday. “You’re not fierce enough to be named after Andy. You’re forward enough to be named after Nile, I suppose. But you don’t look like a Cotie to me. Odette?” He swore the little girl wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I never like that name either.” He confessed to her. “I suppose it will have to be Josee then. Let’s not let Joe know, huh? He’ll brag.”

If he picked up a baby sling with the car seat it was just because it was convenient, and if he just happened to buy her a small stuffed rabbit, that was because children deserved toys. Period.

“She’s my niece.” He told the old woman in the market. There was a strike, he couldn't rent the car. It was their second weekend together, and people were starting to notice. “Her fathers are on a second honeymoon in Malta.”

“Let’s never tell Joe and Nicky this part.” He told Josee on the way home.

He couldn’t keep her. He knew it. He still bought her a yellow dress with sunflowers on it, and a swaddle with little embroidered bees.

“Andy would be appalled by this dress.” He told her. “But I think Nile would approve.”

She started to cough the third Friday. He was pretty sure he'd never forged papers faster as he did to get her into the doctor. Even the times there'd been hits taken out on the team.

It took ten days for Josee to get over the cold. He'd forgotten how little one slept with a newborn, but he never slept well anyway. The illness had him in a panic, though, worried constantly that she would get sicker. He bought blankets and a small heater. He'd never had a heater in that safehouse. Ever. Nicky had complained more than once about it.

"Nicky would be very jealous." He told her, kissing her nose. She smiled up at him. It was Sunday night, and she was better. But the illness reminded him she was mortal. Painfully mortal.

He rented the car on Monday morning. He told them the story of her being his niece, and how he was meeting his brother and brother-in-law, who had been on a second honeymoon in Malta, for lunch. “They’ll be very excited to see their daughter.” He forced a smile.

He drove past the hospital with the baby hatch twice. Josee seemed to sense his mood, her eyes big and wide as he swaddled her in the little bee embroidered swaddle, and tucked the toy rabbit in with her. He hesitated but finally added the small note that told them her name was Josee. She cried as he put her in the hatch.

He could barely see through the blur of his own tears as he drove back to the apartment. It seemed emptier than ever and he retreated out of it. The cemetery his family was buried in was old, but he paid for their stones upkeep. For flowers to be delivered once every other month. He hadn’t always, but over time…

The sight of a woman crying by a grave drew him in. Somehow even before he reached her he knew the dates on the grave would be younger than hers. Once you’ve grieved a child, you knew the sound of that loss. She was wary of him at first, but like he said - you knew the signs.

“It’s been two years, and I still wake up every day thinking about him.”

“I know that feeling.” He told her.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?” She asked him.

“It was cancer.”

"I’m so sorry.” Her gaze was kind. “There’s no other loss quite like it. Losing a child. I’ve lost other people, and it heals. There’s a piece of you always missing, but it heals enough. But a child… it just breaks something in you.”

“There’s an awareness, I think, with the others in your life, that they may die first. Even a spouse. But… a parent shouldn’t outlive their own child."

"They’re supposed to live on after you. Happy lives, experiencing a future you won't see. How do you reconcile that with loss?"

He looked at the graves around them. "I haven't figured it out yet."

"I read somewhere that one of the stages of grief is bargaining. It feels like that's the stage I'm permanently stuck in. As if I could still bring him back if I just…"

He knew that feeling, too well.

She took his hand and he sat with her til the sun set.

The car seat was still in the rented car, along with the baby sling. He thought of blue eyes and a dress with yellow sunflowers. He had a hundred years of exile ahead of him, with no task, or cause. He had more money than he knew what to do with, houses all over the world… but he couldn't handle that loss again. Better to give her up now, before he felt too connected. He ignored the voice telling him he already was.

He was very drunk when he stumbled his way home. Nothing prepared him for what was waiting for him.

"Booker. It's nice to finally meet you."

He'd gotten so caught up with Josee, he hadn't realized the dreams of Quynh drowning had stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> The last person I thought I’d end up hooked on and writing fics for was Booker, but gdi, the scene of him talking about his son’s death really got to me. I was very tempted to have this be non-canon and let him keep Josee, but overall the mood of the fic was more melancholy - an exploration of Booker's loss more than anything.


End file.
